


so close you can put it in your hands

by Grand_Phoenix



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Eleanor kind of knows what's up, F/F, Female Gaze, Fluff, Humor, Maybe - Freeform, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Femslash, and "birds", but there is plenty of "plot" to behold, i swear the stuff i come up with at work astounds me, it's very tame, seriously there's no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grand_Phoenix/pseuds/Grand_Phoenix
Summary: The view is just perfect, Velvet thinks, and leans in for a closer look.





	so close you can put it in your hands

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes at work, my mind will wander and conjure story ideas, some of which are…out there, and once they're written I wonder what the hell I just wrote and how I'm capable of thinking them. This is one of them.
> 
> To add some more context: I saw a picture of Velvet and Eleanor in yukata that I think might have been from _Tales of the Rays_ in a Tales thread over at /v/ a couple weeks ago and decided to perform a _miracle_.
> 
> I have no regrets, and certainly no shame.

The view is just perfect, Velvet thinks, and leans in for a closer look. She's no expert on flowers—that kind of thing, congruent with archaeology and ancient history and the exploration of ruins, was always up Laphi's alley—but she's seen her fair share of the lot and has never seen flowers as bright red as these. They're in full bloom, slim petals tapering off to a fine point at the end, like cranes dipping their heads for a drink of water. It is a river limned yellow-orange from an unseen sky, sunrise or sunset, and the light from which they rest—if they are indeed like birds—hits that perfect sweet spot that sets the world on fire.

It's a nice flame. A _warm_ flame, not too bright but not too hard on the eye. It's soft, comforting; it's a reminder of the bygone days of youth to be imitated but never reclaimed. It's a testament to that tiny spark in the human psyche that makes one want to strike into the wild blue yonder and leave the vagaries of society behind.

It's… _soft_ , not hard like the flames she assimilated from Seres, flames that licked and ate their way through anyone and anything that tried to stop her. It's small, like the first star in the evening sky, and Velvet has never wanted to hold something so precious and pure in her life until now. Protect it, nurture it, and never let go.

_Just this once._

_Just this once, let me hold onto it._

Breathlessly, she reaches out and touches it, innocently, reverently—

"What the…?!" Eleanor squeaks, jumping with a start. She twists around as much as she can, barely getting a sideways look at her. "Velvet…?!"

Velvet's eyes fly open, reality reasserting itself.

Oh. Those aren't birds or flowers basking in a river of fire.

That's not even the sash they're printed on.

Her gaze drops down to where her hands are at. To the flesh melded therein.

Flowers and birds were soft…but flowers and birds these were _not_.

_Huh._ It wasn't a startled _Holy hell!_ or _Goddammit!_ It was simply, for all intents and purpose, a simple _Huh._

"S-Sorry!" She hisses, and lets go of the girl's ass. "My hands slipped. L-Let me fix that." Velvet grabs the ends of the sash— _properly_ , this time—and adjusts it so it's nice and tight—and _snug_.

She viciously stamps out the thought. "There. How does that feel?"

"Much better," Eleanor says, pleased. She gives the sash a few experimental tugs, nods, and turns around. "I couldn't have gotten this on by my own. Thanks, Velvet."

"You're welcome," Velvet says, standing up—and lo and behold, the first thing she happens to lay eyes on is the swath of peach skin not covered by the yukata. It starts from her neck and goes down, down, into the depths of the unknown. It's not revealing, there's not even a hint of cleavage, but…goodness, it fits her so well. It really makes her…stand out—

It only lasts a second, but that is _not_ how a person is supposed to make eye contact, so Velvet wrenches her gaze back up to her smiling face, where it should be.

Oh. So this is what it feels like to be free-falling into a bottomless pit and not off the top of a prison tower. How dizzying. "Shall we get going?"

"Yes," says Eleanor. "We don't want to be late. Let's go." She turns on her heel and heads out the door.

Velvet's eyes widen, head tilting up appraisingly. That yukata conforms to her every curve as water fits into a bottle. Her breasts might be compacted to it as…neatly as can be…but even lower yet, right beneath the sash.

Her nostrils flare. Rokurou, she thinks wildly. Rokurou would know what that feels like. What it must have been like, back in the hot springs when everyone swapped bodies. He had to have been just the tiniest, slightest bit curious to want to let his hands—no, _her_ hands—wander…explore…l-learn the lay of the land….

She's right; they had best get moving. Right now, preferably, for at the very least Velvet can take up the rearguard and protect Eleanor from any malcontents attempting to crash the party and keep any wandering eyes off her. Because Celica always said eyes were the windows to the soul, and sometimes people with eyes can be too _bold_ , too _adventurous_ , for their own good.

Velvet takes one long, slow sweep up the length of Eleanor's body: soft…supple… _lean_ with muscle.

Her eyes fall back below the sash, drawn toward the flame of the sun, the flowers, the birds drinking in the river of fire.

Dear Empyreans, _the birds_.

She brings them up to the back of her friend's head and nods approvingly, swallowing around a parched throat and a ditzy smile that won't go down.

This is fine. Just fine. A little look doesn't hurt once in a while.


End file.
